Birds of Prey: Flight of the Owl
by Whitelighter Enchantress
Summary: Second in the sequel series to Phantasmagoria.
1. Part 1

**Birds of Prey**

**A Series by Whitelighter Enchantress**

**II. Flight of the Owl**

A/n: I've been sitting with this for awhile now, I suppose it's time to post. Each part is pretty short, so I might start posting two parts at a time. But down to business: this one is a lot longer than number I in the series, and it's Leah's story. I hope you all will still be intrigued.

Disclaimer: Hey guess what- I don't own Alias. Who knew?

Part 1 

Deep in the busy city of Toronto, traffic becomes a nightmare late in the evening. The streets are crowded with cars, tour buses, play-goers, and more. Amid the bustle, however, two women cause heads to turn and cars to stop. They strut together, making their way down the sidewalk, their heels clicking in time with the other's.

The doorman gapes at the two, struck by their beauty, and the younger of the two offers him a playful smile and flips her long, dark hair behind her shoulder. She chuckles when the other woman tugs her elbow, forcing her to enter the restaurant. She raises her eyebrow briefly at the older and wiser one, yet she is oblivious. Soon the younger follows suit and keeps her eyes occupied on those around her, immediately forgetting the nervous doorman.

They are seated along the wall, and the elder calmly takes her seat as the younger comments on the restaurant's swanky appearance. She adjusts her dress, slips into her chair, and throws a smile at the woman across from her. This woman, older and wiser, has been everything. All that she is, all that she has done is because of her; for her. And though the two women are often mistaken for sisters, they are not. They are instead, mother and daughter.

She takes in her mother's appearance slowly, wanting to remember every little detail of tonight. Her mother has pulled her brown hair up in a tangle of curls, leaving a few wisps to tickle her face. She sees a few wrinkles form around her lips as she orders an expensive wine for them to share. When the younger opens her mouth to protest her mother casts a glance that demands she shut her mouth. She does, but smirks.

When the waiter leaves, her mother reaches across the table for her daughter's hand, and she gladly accepts it. "Leah," she begins; the small candle in the center of the table illuminates her face as she leans inward, emphasizing a twinkle in her chocolate colored eyes, "I'm so proud of you."

Leah blushes, but does not look away. "I know, Mom."

She leans back in her seat. "A college graduate," she sighs. "And I remember when you were just this tiny little thing…" She proceeds to show her daughter a length with her hands that indicates her size as a baby.

"Not this again," Leah laughs, twisting a wave of her dark hair between her fingers. "I will admit, Mom, this is a much nicer dinner than after high school graduation."

"That's because you didn't care back then. You just wanted to go party with your friends."

She is taken aback. "That's not true!" Her mother raises an eyebrow with a smile. "Okay, maybe a little true… But things were different back then." Things _were_ different, if only slightly. She knew she had much more knowledge and maturity then she did four years ago at this time, but deep down she was the same person.

Growing up, Leah had always wanted to be exactly like her mother. She wanted lighter brown hair, straighter hair, big brown eyes, and a tall, slender body. She wanted to be strong and compassionate, to light up the room she had entered, to be sweet and incredibly smart, and always know what to say. Instead, she had dark hair in gentle waves and dark eyes to match. She had grown taller than her mother, coming in at just under six feet. And she was quiet and observant, absorbing the light in the room rather than creating it.

At first, she abhorred the differences. Why couldn't she appear as happy and talkative as her mother? Why did she possess the qualities of her grandfather, as her mother often commented? Suddenly one day, she had taken a liking to the differences. She can't remember a defining moment or any reasons to the change, she only remembers embracing the differences. She wasn't her mother, but she could still be her best friend, caregiver, confidante, and hero. Their past was complicated, but it only made them stronger together.

Leah can remember, however, recognizing the sadness and grief that her mother's happiness masked. She knew as a child that it sometimes hurt her mother how she resembled Jack Bristow. The way she looked, the way her mind worked… It often made her mother reflect. But their was also an aura about Leah that was distinctly her father's, to which her mother had grown nostalgic. Leah's intense and observant nature would at times be interrupted by her father's charm, and she would interject a humorous remark at the appropriate moments. Naturally, she would follow with her father's trademark smirk.

Her mother once told her. "It's funny how you act more like Grandpa around your peers, but you act more like your dad around me." Never having met her father or grandfather, Leah chose to believe it was God's way of her getting to know them both. Still, it was not enough.

"So," her mother sips her wine, "what's next?"

"I don't know, I guess I have to get a job now." She cracks a smile, but finally pauses to think over her future. She hesitates; future has always seemed so far away, yet today future is tomorrow. Her past was filled with culture and foreign tongues, spending her childhood in Rome speaking both English and Italian. At six her mother transported them to Canada, where they have lived ever since, and she picked up on French. She had played many sports, using her height as an advantage: volleyball, basketball, and running track. Her present is college, though she has now completed it, consisting of term papers and volleyball, which was mainly her life until today: graduation. There had been friends, there had been boyfriends, but they came and went. She always had her mother.

But her future? She will get a job eventually, maybe even attend graduate school, but something she has always wanted is picking at her brain. Something she was never able to do until now, something she desperately wants more than anything. First and foremost, she wishes to touch a part of her past that is a dusty book sitting in the attic unopened…

Certainly, she knows the author. She knows the general plot. She has even caught a glimpse of its deteriorating bindings once or twice throughout her youth. But to run her fingers along its spine, to flip through the pages and inhale its scent, to read the precious words she has been longing to hear her entire life… It is something she has only dreamed of; what she once believed was an impossible feat.

What she knows for certain is this:

His name was Michael Christopher Vaughn.

He had a beautiful smile; a beautiful soul.

His forehead would wrinkle when he was worried or concerned.

He felt extreme loyalty to the people and things he cared about.

He loved his wife more than anything in the world.

His eyes were green.

He enjoyed hockey.

He could not wait to be a father.

He was brutally murdered by a man named Arvin Sloane.

But this information– the things her mother has told her, everything she knows –it is not enough. It does not tell her the sound of his voice, the feeling of his embrace, the intensity and passion in his eyes. It does not tell her how much of his spirit is embedded in her soul despite his absence.

In her childhood, she had carefully removed the lid of a box, and in her adolescence her mother handed her the puzzle piece by piece. She tries to assemble them completely, but cannot. There are still edge pieces missing, but mostly, the center pieces, the ones with jagged edges, rounded peninsulas, and gaping crevices. She has to– needs to –locate them all in order to fit them properly.

At last, she answers, "I'm going to find out who I am."

**1?**


	2. Part 2

**Birds of Prey**

**A Series by Whitelighter Enchantress**

**II. Flight of the Owl**

A/n: Oops, I forgot about updating this again. My bad. Please review!

Part 2 

Leah glances at the slightly crumpled piece of paper clutched in her hand again. The messy scrawl of her mother's quick writing has not changed, and neither has Leah's mind despite her confusion in this new city. After much debate, she has returned to Los Angeles. She cannot remember the few weeks spent here following her birth, and feels somewhat intimidated by the tall, crowded buildings that she has never seen, the crowds of strangers that pack the streets, and the mess of freeway that might get her lost. Through all of this, however, she is determined to find this man's house.

Everything had seemed like a good idea to Leah before. Back in Toronto she had everything planned out with her mother, but as soon as she arrived at the airport in California she had second thoughts. What if he won't help her after all? What if this turns out to be one giant mistake? As she asked herself these questions in an uncomfortable plastic chair of terminal 47A, she saw a little girl running toward the gate, only to be lifted into the arms of her father, who closed his eyes and held onto her with all his strength; his missing appendage for far too long. The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck as though she never wanted to let go, and suddenly, Leah remembered why she had come. Leah knows she is that little girl, waiting at the gate for her father to appear. One day he will exit, and she will run to him, and he will lift her into his arms, and they will never let go of each other, and they will be part of each other. That day will not be now, nor will it be soon, but it will at last become possible.

That was always what Leah wanted from the start, and her mother understood that. She herself had done the same thing for her own mother… Only Leah will not find out her parent was an international terrorist. It had been a teary good-bye for the two women, but her mother knew she must let her go. The older woman wants to believe she can tell her everything that her daughter wants to know, yet she cannot. Leah needs an outside party: someone who knew him from start to finish, and people who were with him along the way.

This is precisely the reason why she is currently standing outside the door of 2543 Zephyr Avenue on this humid summer evening. And while it is the only address her mother gave her, she hopes it will bring her many more.

Leah hastily stuffs the piece of paper into her jeans pocket, and hesitates before knocking on the door. One, two, three seconds; it is not too late to run back to the car. Four, five, six, seven; the sun has barely set, a thousand hotels probably still have rooms. Eight, nine, ten seconds; she has yearned for this all her life! Eleven, twelve; how can she give up now? Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen seconds; footsteps on the other side.

Her eyes fixate on the twisting doorknob, the space between the frame and opening door, the flicker of the porch light. She lifts her gaze, settling on a middle-aged man with grayed hair and warm face that seems withered, as if it has seen much grief. "Mr. Weiss?" Leah asks.

"Can I help you?"

His voice is deep and smooth, and calms her nerves. The screen door that separates them makes her uncomfortable. "My name is Leah Avery–" She pauses, and his lips part for a moment, the wrinkles between his furrowed brows fade. "But you probably know me as Leah Vaughn."

He is frozen, silent, stunned; for a moment she thinks he may turn and run. She tries to meet his eyes, to read his thoughts, but he appears to be in another world. In the blink of an eye, his fingers are fumbling to open the screen door. "Uh, come in, c-come in." As he breathes rapidly, Leah exhales a breath she was not aware she was holding. She smiles timidly as she enters, stepping into their living room. Her eyes settle on the dim dining room beyond when he says, "Have a seat," and points absent-mindedly to the couch beside her. She obeys.

The moment grows awkwardly noiseless. Leah watches as he cannot decide what to do with his hands. He takes staggered glances at her, wanting to study her features, but he does not, and instead focuses on the carpet.

Before long Leah cannot handle the silence, and blurts, "I still have the teddy bear you gave me." Right away she wants to clap her hand over her mouth and cover her eyes, or hide, but his responsive laugh eases her embarrassment.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I named him Mr. Happy… Look, Mr. Weiss–"

"Please, Eric."

"Eric, my mom's talked about you a lot. You were really important to her. She told me you helped her through a lot of tough situations. And, I was hoping now you'd help me."

Finally, he studies her. He immediately sees the imposing figure of Jack Bristow, standing over him holding power, fear, and all the cards in the deck. When he meets her eyes he sees beyond appearances and finds Sydney, a dear friend asking for a simple favor, and deeper still, there is Michael Vaughn. For the first time in almost thirty years he can feel his presence surrounding him. At last, he utters, "Anything you want."

She smiles at his kindness, at his familiar voice that she knows she cannot remember hearing. She opens her mouth to bring up her father when a voice interrupts her from the back of the room.

"Eric, who was at the door?" A woman emerges from the dark dining room. Leah can already tell she is short. Her faded blonde hair curls neatly beneath her ears and she rests her hands on her curvy hips. Initially her eyebrows raise, but she smiles at her husband's guest. "Hello," she greets cheerfully.

"Olivia, this is Leah. Syd and Mike's kid," he quietly adds.

Realization obviously dawns on her: eyes widen, her mouth forms an O shape, a sharp intake of breath. "Oh! Well, it's a pleasure to meet you!" Olivia rushes over, and Leah feels compelled to stand. Just as she raises her hand for Olivia to shake, the woman envelops her in a hug. She hears her mumble, "Oh, wow," into her hair before she pulls away. Her hands frame Leah's face, then her shoulders. "Are you planning on being in Los Angeles long?"

"Oh, well, I don't really…" She has taken Leah by surprise, and she has not been prepared to properly answer the question. Her stay in Los Angeles is quite indefinite.

"You don't have a hotel yet? Of course, you're welcome here."

"I don't want to intrude–"

"No, we insist," Eric chimes in.

She alternates her gaze between Eric and Olivia, uncertainty brimming on her lips. This complete stranger just offered her a place to stay, but no, she is not a stranger to Leah. Eric is not a stranger to Leah. She has known Eric her whole life without actually having met him, and she knows that Eric has told his wife everything about his past, including losing his best friend, his best friend's wife, and his best friend's daughter, the latter presently standing before their eyes. These people… They are far from strangers. Though they know very few details of each others' lives, one past event ties them all together, and that is enough. "Then thank-you," Leah decides. "It's too kind."

Olivia smiles genuinely. "It's the least we can do."

"Olivia, can I talk to you in the kitchen? Excuse us, Leah."

Leah nods, and Olivia squeezes her shoulder briefly before joining her husband in the kitchen. She watches them disappear behind the darkness of the dining room, and quickly finds herself indifferently alone. She folds her arms across her chest and slowly turns a circle, taking in her surroundings. She pauses, and begins to inch towards the stairwell, but thinks better of it and turns to inspect the mantelpiece. Five frames rest atop the marble shelf, each evenly spaced with a few items scattered between them, a few clay pots and sculptures made by children, a small statuette.

She steps in to inspect the photographs, making her way slowly from left to right. The first frame is divided with two baby pictures, followed by a wedding picture of a much younger and radiantly happy Eric and Olivia. Then is a senior picture of a girl who resembles Olivia, with "Chloe 2026" inscribed in the lower right corner; a regular school picture of a teenage boy, who does not really look much like either of his parents, but clearly has inherited his father's broad shoulders; lastly a picture that causes Leah's heart to skip a beat. She forgets to breathe for a few seconds before she realizes her fingertips have reached up to touch the photograph, as if she is not convinced that it truly exists, but sure enough there is her mother, young but tired with a messy pony tail, loving smile, and Mr. Happy the teddy bear at her side as she sits in a bed. In her arms she holds an impossibly small baby clad in a pink knitted hat and a yellow blanket.

"You were so tiny when you were born," Eric's voice carries over from behind her. He startles her a bit, but she finds herself incapable of moving. Her fingers will not leave the wooden frame, her eyes will not leave her mother's face, her own face. "I was afraid I'd break you every time I held you…"

She somehow finds the strength to speak. "I've never seen a baby picture of me before… Not a young baby picture, anyway. Mom couldn't afford a camera until I was seven or eight months old." She stares at the picture a little longer before turning back to Eric.

"When we learned that- that Sydney killed Jack… and the two of you had disappeared we thought- we thought that maybe you were dead. I remember thinking she wouldn't do that, she just wouldn't kill this little baby, so innocent, so tiny… But there was no hope that either of you were alive."

He has tried so hard not to cry throughout her entire visit, and he struggles now. Leah embraces him, lowering her chin onto his shoulder and closing her eyes. She squeezes him harder as he digs his fingers into her back. She wants to comfort him, this poor, sweet man who loved her so much as a baby just for who she was. "She was just protecting us," she whispers several times before he pulls away and wipes his face clear.

"Just to see you here, all grown up, feels like a God damn miracle."

**2?**


	3. Part 3

**Birds of Prey**

**A Series by Whitelighter Enchantress**

**II. Flight of the Owl**

A/n: This is probably my favorite part… Please review!

Part 3 

The next morning Leah wakes to the sun brightly shining through the curtains; she groans, and attempts to cover her eyes with the comforter, but it is no use, she is awake. Flipping over, she lays on her back and plays over the events of yesterday in her head. Last night Olivia had made up their daughter's old room for Leah, apparently located across the hall from seventeen-year-old Jake, who she has yet to see.

She had wanted to tell Eric last night why she had come, but she was not entirely sure how to go about it, nor did the opportunity arise after Eric's emotional outburst. He mostly showed her to her room, she realized her exhausted state, and fell asleep before she could even retrieve her bags from the car.

From the looks of the sun, she must have slept in late. Eric's long gone to work now, but Olivia is probably puttering around the kitchen. Still, her body is tired, and she chooses not to move from the warmth and comfort of the bed. She rubs her eyes, gazing around the room. It feels a bit empty, but Leah doesn't mind. She likes the way the sun hits the light blue painted walls, such a cheery feeling.

Leah then notices a white book on the foot of the bed with a Post-it note stuck to the top. Sitting up, she reaches for it, and comes to find that it is not a book but a photo album. She pulls back and sits against the headboard, curling up her legs and resting the album on top of them. The Post-it note reads:

_I thought you might like to see this._

_-Eric_

She peels the bright yellow square off, setting it aside, and lets her fingers run over the ivory cover, laced with pink ribbon. There is a rectangle cut out of the middle to create a sort of frame underneath the words, "Our Baby." She scans the photograph of the newborn baby who reminds her quite a bit of the picture she saw last night, the one of herself and her mother. Quickly, she flips open the cover and smiles at the title page. It is indeed a picture of her, with her mother's print below reading, "Leah Nicole Vaughn," and below that, "May 14, 2006." The following page has a few more pictures of newborn Leah, including details of her birth such as height and weight, and her tiny little footprint.

She pauses at each picture, memorizing every little fold of skin, every eyelash, every smile, not wanting to forget anything at all. Each picture is worth more to her than a thousand words, more than a thousand dollars even. They each earn a few minutes of her time. Seeing herself like this is something Leah has never experienced, and seeing her mother so exhausted, emotionally and physically, and still so beautiful and loving makes her heart melt.

Leah turns the page, and her heart beats faster as her eyes settle on the next picture. There sits a man in front of a window, the break of dawn streaming in behind him. Baby Leah rests asleep against his shoulder, so tiny he can hold her with only one hand. His other hand rests so gently against her head, so gingerly, so tenderly, so affectionately. His gray hair is combed in neat waves across his head; his eyes, which are not focused at the camera, are small and surrounded by smooth wrinkles, and his mouth is held in a tight position. She has never seen this man before, but she recognizes him instantly.

This man is Jack Bristow, her grandfather.

Her heart is pounding in her chest now. He looks so concentrated, intimidating, strong, and powerful, and yet the way his hands so lovingly hold Leah against him show his true nature. Her eyes sting with unshed tears; she has never seen this man before, how can she desire his affections so much? She closes her eyes and envisions him now: the stern figure, observant gaze, determined gait. She can see herself as a little girl, staring up at him with curiosity, admiration, maybe the slightest hint of fear. But she wishes to test him: sneaking into his lap, wrapping her arms around his thick neck, settling into his perfect shoulder. The little girl closes her eyes and forgets the world as Grandpa holds her tightly; he keeps her safe, warm, protected, and most of all loved. Nothing bad can ever happen to her when she is there.

Leah opens her eyes and lets a few tears fall. She has cried over the loss of her father many times in her life, but never for her grandfather. But now, seeing his image for the first time unlocks a chest of emotions she has hidden away. As Eric broke down last night, recalling the loss of Leah and Sydney, Leah takes her turn to break down about the loss of Jack.

With little composure she turns the pages rapidly, desperate for more pictures of him. There are some people she does not recognize, more people whom she has only heard of and not seen. She cries harder. She has lost them, too. But here, there are more of Grandpa Jack. He cradles her so delicately in every one. His face is still stoic and unreadable when looking away, but alters completely when staring down at her. A new softness occurs around his eyes, and dare the corners of his lips curve upwards in a smile?

Another has Leah holding out her arms to him, the next of her gripping his index fingers. More of Leah sleeping against his chest, his shoulder, his guarding arms nestling her in protection. Jack whispers to her, his mouth next to her ear. Leah lies on a blanket smiling up; Jack lies beside her smiling down. Smiling genuinely, teeth showing, eyes vibrant with life and love. Leah chokes out a small laugh between her tears, thinking he must not have known her mother was taking the picture.

She turns the page eagerly, but it is bare. So is the next, and the next. In quick rage, Leah slams the album closed, angered the photographs only occupy half of it. She hugs it fondly to her chest, however, and lets the remaining tears fall.

He loved her. He truly, unquestionably, absolutely loved her. Leah has always been aware that he cared for her, and was interested in her well-being. She understands her mother's motives for killing him, and she has agreed with them throughout her life. She can hardly imagine any other life than simply with her mother. She needed her mother to survive, and likewise her mother needed her for sanity.

In Leah's eyes, her grandfather's death had been a necessary evil, that he did not think that mother and daughter needed each other to live. But now Leah knows that was wrong. He had always had Leah's best interest in mind. He knew beyond anything that his granddaughter's survival depended on her mother's recovery. He knew his protecting her could work, her mother just did not see things that way. And she is certain that if Jack had found the gun instead, he may have done the same thing.

She is suddenly angry at her mother. Could she not have waited? Could she not have calmed down and talked with him? Why could they not understand each other's point of view? She holds the album and cries for her mother, for her grandfather, for the times they shared and the times they could have shared, for everything forgotten, for everything recorded in the album.

And finally, she is all cried out. Nothing more can be done. She releases her tight hold of the photo album and rests it once again in her lap before reopening it. This time around, she imagines herself as the little girl sitting in her grandfather's lap. One arm wraps around her stomach as the other points to the pictures' captions and he helps her to read them. They take their time inspecting the photographs, each one telling its own silent story. There's Grandpa Jack and Mommy, there's Eric Weiss making silly faces, there's Mr. Happy, there's her sweet doggy Donovan, there's Mommy's friends Francie and Will, Marshall, and Dixon. She knows all of their stories as well, Mommy likes to tell her stories about them.

The last picture stands alone on the page, no special paper, ribbons, or border to decorate it. Simply the phrase, "A happy moment," written beneath it. It needs no special decorations, the captured moment is sacred enough. Leah does not want it to end. She wants to see herself and Grandpa at her birthday parties, on her first day of kindergarten, at graduation. The little girl snuggles back against his chest, his arm holds her closer yet. He solemnly closes the album, and she closes her eyes, only to reopen them and find herself back in Eric's house, sitting curled up in a bed, clutching an old binder half filled with pictures.

**3?**


	4. Part 4

**Birds of Prey**

**A Series by Whitelighter Enchantress**

**II. Flight of the Owl**

A/n: Dang, I always forget to update here. Sorry. Please review!

Part 4 

That night after dinner Leah tries to help clean the dishes, but Olivia will not hear of it. Instead she captures sight of the elusive Jake, who had appeared from the depths of his room, or wherever he had been, for feeding time. Leah does not expect to see him often, though, it being his summer vacation and all. But she does not mind, for she delights in the company of Olivia. The woman insisted on making Leah a brunch earlier despite her late rise. Perhaps her bloodshot, cried-out eyes worked to that advantage as well.

Now Leah sits at the table with Eric, who idly sips at his coffee. Olivia and Jake are busied in the kitchen for awhile, she has some alone time with him again. "Eric?" she asks politely, not wanting to disturb him from his thoughts. He looks at her as if he has been waiting for her to speak. "I want to thank you for leaving the photo album this morning. It…" She feels the emotion building beneath her voice and takes a moment to compose herself. "It was nice to see my grandfather."

He continues to watch her, knowing that there is more she wants to say. She tries several times to bring herself to talk, but she cannot. Too much emotion for one day, her brain is exhausted. All day long she has moped around the house trying to distract herself from her grandfather. But his image is a prominent one, and very difficult to shake off. She cannot even begin to dwell on her father too…

She slouches back in her chair and quickly folds her hands together, not wanting to say anything despite the screaming voice in her head. She can feel Eric's eyes on her, and soon his slick voice speaks. "I don't know where you've been the last twenty-two years, and I don't know why you've come now." She looks up at him, internally frightened, not ready to admit anything, but her face does not show her fear. "But you don't have to tell me anything. I'm not going to lie to you, I'd like to know, but none of it matters right now. It's okay that you're just here."

A small weight feel lifted from her shoulders, but she knows she will still have to tell him eventually. She can feel his eyes on her a few moments more, but he returns to sipping his coffee. She sighs. "Thank you," she adds softly.

Later that evening, things have calmed and eased extremely, and she contentedly relaxes in the living room with Olivia and Eric. The two are hilarious together, Leah thinks, and she is glad to finally see the humorous side of Eric that her mother often talked about. Leah lets her guard down more, drawing away from quiet and observant to cracking good one-liners and laughing whole-heartedly. After her long day, it feels great.

They begin to reveal more personal matters about each other. After Eric and Olivia discuss their daughter Chloe being at UCLA now, and Jake's need to begin applying, Leah allows them to know where she went to college. She tells them a few funny stories from school, her current lack of a boyfriend, and a freedom from volleyball at last… Though she does miss it.

Leah truly enjoys her evening, and she gets ready for bed feeling a tiredness befall her. However, as soon as her head hits the pillow sleep refuses to find her. She tosses and turns for what feels like forever before glancing at the clock; just after one AM. Leaning over to turn the lamp on, she sighs and leans back into the headboard. Her eyes wander to the white photo album that sits on top of the dresser.

Her mind keeps falling back to her emotions from this morning, and she cannot stop picturing Jack Bristow in her mind. She waivers between his image and her conversation with Eric after dinner. Why can she not say anything to him yet? It should not have to be that way… She can trust him, she knows she can. Her mother trusts him, therefore Leah does. But Leah was raised by a woman who hardly trusted anybody, and Leah finds it hard to be completely open and honest because of that.

She tries to tell herself that this is not just anybody, this is Eric Weiss. Leah wants him to know everything: her past and why she is here. He deserves to know especially after all she and her mother have put him through. She is sure she will not be at peace until she tells him.

Which means she may not sleep tonight. Leah swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands slowly, stretching her back. She creeps over the carpet in the dark hallway and moves stealthily down the stairs. She squints her eyes into an unwelcome brightness emanating from the dining room. Edging a few cautious steps forward, her eyes adjust and she spies Eric leaning over the table, which is scattered with file folders and papers.

He has not noticed her presence yet, and for a moment Leah considers heading back upstairs. Instead she lingers in the living room and watches him drum his fingers, shuffle some papers, wipe his face with his hands. After a minute or two he reaches for a pen, turning his head ever so slightly, and catches Leah from the corner of his eye. "Hey, what are you doing up?"

"Can't sleep. I was just getting a glass of water." He nods, and she moves towards the kitchen but hesitates. What is he doing up at this hour as well? Her curiosity deeply intrigues her, yet she heads in the kitchen for her water anyway.

She grabs a glass from the cupboard. So they both cannot sleep right now. She fills it about three-quarters full in the sink. She might as well talk to him, as long as they are both awake. Gulping down half her water, she decides it is now or never with the truth.

She marches back into the dining room, plops down in one of the wooden chairs, and waits to garner his attention. Little time passes before he meets her gaze. "We need to talk," she tells him in a serious tone that reminds him sincerely of Jack Bristow. He sits down at last, the drumming of his fingers ceasing, and he waits calmly for her to begin. "Mom took me to Rome right away. We moved into this… miniscule apartment that we still didn't have enough money for. But we got to live there in exchange for Mom's babysitting the landlady's daughter who was a few years older than me…" She proceeded to tell him about her life in Italy until just after her sixth birthday, when her mother decided it was time for a change of pace, and they moved elsewhere. Leah could not bring herself to mention Toronto; there had been too many years of secrecy. She told him about her mother's different jobs, how she tried dating once, but it did not work out, and how everything in her mother's past was not a secret to Leah.

"But all my life," she continued, "there's been something missing. A really big piece of me that was just lost. I used to think that maybe it would go away as time went on. It's become pretty clear that it's not going to unless I do something. Sometimes I'm afraid that big, empty hole is growing bigger and bigger and wants to swallow me up… I don't want to be swallowed.

"It's my dad, Eric. He's what I'm missing. The strange part is I've always known who he was without actually knowing him, do you understand that? And I was hoping that you'd… You'd help me fill that hole. Help me figure out who he was, who _I_ am because of him."

He breaks eye contact slowly and stares hard into the table. Leah cannot read him and wonders what he is thinking about, what his reaction is to all this information suddenly dumped upon him. She will not blame him if he is not ready to help her, she understands that what she wants is a difficult thing. Her hand is gripping her water glass, she notices. To calm her uncertainty she gulps the remaining water down. Eric is looking at her when she swallows, and she gazes back eagerly.

First, he nods slowly. "I can try," he says so quietly that it is almost a whisper. He smiles sideways at her, and she cannot help but smile back. Something… Something between them is different now; she can feel it. Maybe it is only the need to sleep, she wonders before standing up to go back to bed. She is sure she will have no more trouble sleeping tonight. Before she gets very far she feels a tug at her arm. Looking back, there is Eric still seated in his chair, staring up at her under years of furrowed brows, bags beneath his eyes, and rounded cheeks that have lost there smiling bounce. All due from frustration and mourning. "Thank you." She never once doubts his words.

Leah wakes the next morning around nine o'clock, not early, but not nearly as late as yesterday. She had a dream last night, she can recall it so vividly now. She was a little girl, sitting in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs in the airport. But wait, no, she was sitting in someone's lap. It was Jack Bristow, and he held her with one arm and held the white photo album in the other. His eyes were focused straight ahead, his face locked in position, but his arm grew so sweetly snug around Leah's small frame. She seemed to have an anxious feeling as she looked around the airport, she was not so much observing as searching for something, or someone, in particular. One of the gates far off to her right opened, and people began to dribble out. This excited her. She leapt from her grandfather's lap and pushed her way through the crowds. _He's coming, he's coming_, she remembers her dream-self thinking. The little girl waited, and waited, and waited for what felt like years, but nobody came. At last the doors to the gate closed, and she turned despairingly to go sit again with Jack, only to find as she turned around that the airport was completely empty. A dark feeling developed within her, her heart raced; she was scared. She was alone.

And she woke up, just then. She lays in bed and reflects on it for a moment, but thinks she ought to get up and have a bite to eat. Moving down the stairs slowly, the delightful scent of bread hits her at the bottom step, and quickens her pace.

Olivia greets her in the kitchen. "Good morning! I made you some toast, and I don't know what you like on it, so I just left everything out for you."

"Thanks." Leah accepts the plate, and makes a grab for the peanut butter. She eats it on everything, and—dare she say it—it might be her comfort food.

"I've always been a strawberry jam person, myself," Olivia comments before taking a bite of her own toasted bread.

"My mother ate a lot of peanut butter when she was pregnant with me. I think it was embedded in my DNA."

They eat a little more in silence. Leah's almost finished when Olivia clears her plate and says, "I have to run some errands today, so you can have the house all to yourself, have some alone time."

A red flag raises in Leah's mind. Her dream last night—she cannot recall it now. She remembers being alone in… an airport? And she remembers feeling scared. "Actually, could I go with you? I don't really want to be alone right now."

Olivia's back is still turned to her; she does not see the solemn look on Leah's face. "You want to go grocery shopping and pick up Eric's dry-cleaning? Well, I don't see why not."

Leah smiles to herself. Saved.

**4?**


	5. Part 5

**Birds of Prey**

**A Series by Whitelighter Enchantress**

**II. Flight of the Owl**

A/n: Forgot to update here again, whoops.

Part 5 

The women return home by mid-afternoon, and Leah helps Olivia put groceries away in the kitchen. Despite her lack of sleep, Leah feels very energized today. She thinks it may be caused by her talk with Eric last night, the fact that he is willing to help or, or possibly from Olivia's own happy attitude on life.

"Thank you for today," Leah says quickly, breaking a gentle silence that had settled between them.

"Well, you're welcome," Olivia replies with a small chuckle. "Though I can't understand why you'd pass up a good opportunity to be alone. I know I never do." She laughs, but it fades away as she watches Leah slide with a half smile against the counter.

"I don't know, I just… I don't like to be alone." More than a dislike, she wants to add. More like loathing. Solitude is her one absolute fear. She suspects it may have developed due to her attachment to her mother through the first six years of her life. She cannot remember a time spent away from her mother until they moved to Canada, and Leah started going to school. This attachment—this inseparable nature—scares her. As she grew older, she found her fear more ironic than phobic, not necessarily needing her mother, but simply people in general. She could just as easily feel content within a crowd of people as she could with one person. It was when she sat inside her silent house—hearing the rafters creak, the furnace spark—that her fear engulfed her.

Olivia studies her face, and at last breaks her thoughts. "We're all different, I suppose." She seems to understand, and Leah likes that. Her fear is a difficult thing for her to explain, even to someone who knows about her past. In high school she had the excuse that she liked to study with other people after school until her mother came home from work, and the same excuse worked for college until her roommate returned from class. People were always walking around campus, so that was never a problem, and for holidays she completely spent her time with her mother. She realizes things will be different now that she has graduated, and is on her own.

For now, however, she has the Weisses, and she decides she has no problem with that as Olivia cracks a smile. "I don't feel like cooking tonight. How do you feel about ordering in?"

"I'd feel ecstatic if it were Chinese."

She is proud of the giggle Olivia elicits. "Then Chinese it is. I know Eric won't object."

Unfortunately for Eric, he cannot return home until later in the evening, long after the rice, noodles, pork, and chicken have been closed into white boxes and stored in the refrigerator along with his fortune cookie. Leah is having some coffee with Olivia when they hear Eric barge through the front door, toss his briefcase against the couch, and rush upstairs into his office. Olivia mumbles something about work, standing to clear the table of their nearly empty cups. She quickly retreats with the leftover Chinese food boxes in hand—one stacked up on another, with the fortune cookie balancing dangerously on top—along with a fork and a glass of water.

Leah can still hear him tinkering upstairs as she watches Olivia carefully proceed to the second story with his dinner. After a moment's hesitation, she lifts herself from the dining room and gracefully slides into the corner of the couch, grabbing for the remote mid-fall. She barely has pressed the on button when Olivia trots back down the stairs.

"The Master is calling for you," she sighs drolly, adding an eye roll for effect. Just as quickly as she pressed the on button, she presses off and springs forward off the couch.

The noises coming from Eric's office grow louder as she approaches the entrance, and upon poking her head through the doorway she spies the man on his hands and knees, digging through a closet in the far right of the room. "Eric? You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah…" she faintly hears him reply before he tosses a pile of bulging file folders over his shoulder into the center of the room, their contents sliding out with ease. He shoves aside a cardboard box and moves deeper into the closet's depths, with his back half only visible. Leah decides he might be awhile, and takes a seat at the rolling chair next to the computer desk.

She glances around idly, her fingers tapping an improvised beat against the arms of the chair. The room is fairly small, containing a messy computer desk, covered in papers, folders, and pens lacking a cap; an equally unorganized bookshelf, that seems to hold more paper stacks than books, though they could quite possibly be hidden; a uniquely designed rug of maroon, black, and dark green lines, now shrouded partly by the ever-growing regurgitations of the closet; and at last the closet itself, which, by the looks of and sounds of Eric's frustration, is worse than the desk, bookshelf, and floor combined. Eric's untouched Chinese food also resides there.

"You know, Mike used to tell me this habit would come around and bite me in the ass." Leah raises her eyebrows. He has withdrawn himself and now sits leaning against the wall, surrounded by boxes. She notices he has pulled an old shoebox from one and is shuffling through its contents. He frowns, closing the top and dropping it back into a cardboard box. This process occurs for a few minutes, the searching through shoeboxes, before either of them speaks again.

Eric is the first to do so. "Um, how would you feel about meeting some people for brunch on Saturday? Just some people from work, and… Some of your mom's old friends."

His eyes don't leave the current shoebox. It's black, with a top that flips backward rather than separates completely. He shakes his head, closing the box, and reaching for another. "Like Will and Francie?"

"Yeah, them, and some others." She hears the shuffling stop, and looks up to meet his gaze. "Is that okay?"

"It's great." She stands up, folding her arms over her chest. "I just—I don't know, I kind of forgot I could still meet them. It's strange, isn't it? Knowing of all these people without actually knowing them?"

He sighs. "I guess so." He hands the latest shoebox to her, reaches into another cardboard box, and removes an album before standing up and shaking the dust from his hands.

"What's this?"

"Pictures from college. Only about a quarter of them made it into an album, mostly because I'm a pack rat who can't organize anything, but partly because we drank a lot back then and didn't care what we did with them." Leah takes the photo album and places it under the box so she can easily carry both.

"Thanks."

"So, you're really okay about Saturday? I thought we could get together and share stories or something."

She smiled sideways. "Actually, I'm pretty excited. That was a good idea."

He reached down to pick up his dinner, wasting no time to dive into the chicken fried rice. Leah nods to him and turns to walk out the door, ready to inspect the photos. "Oh," Eric adds with his mouth still full of food. She pauses in the doorway, her head turned sideways to listen. He swallows. "Be kind when you're looking at those. I wasn't lying about us being drunk a lot. Plus I was really fat back then and Mike was a stud, so he had all the girls."

**5?**


End file.
